Christmas in the Country

For as long as I can remember I've wanted to live in the country—buy some acreage in the woods and build a little log house with a large screened-in porch where I can sit on a  summer evening, relax on the porch swing, watch the stars twinkle in the sky and breathe deeply of the cool country air.  I imagine a big red chicken coop in the yard and two goats in a pen. Daisy and Dusty. (Oh yes, I've named them. Somebody stop me before I start describing the perfect rose hedge bordering the white picket fence for crying out loud.) As fate would have it, however, I married a city boy with no pinings for country air nor cravings for the piney woods so here we sit in the neatly paved, well manicured suburbs, and here we will undoubtedly stay.

Sigh.

Me, Grampy, Mandee and Mike in Texas, 1979

But there was a time in 1979 when my dream was briefly realized. We were living in Dallas, Texas. Mike's job seemed stable enough and we got a bee in our bonnets to buy a house. With remarkably little persuasion I convinced Mike we needed to move ourselves and our three small children to a little rural town called Kaufman, Texas. It was about an hour south of Dallas and looked exactly like Mayberry RFD. We found a five acre parcel of land off a dirt road out in the wooded countryside,  smack dab in the middle of nowhere. It was conveniently located 19 miles away from the nearest telephone and/or convenience store, and it looked like heaven to me. We purchased a brand new double wide, plopped it down parallel to the little pond across the road and right next to a grove of walnut trees. We then went back to the city, packed our bags and like Lot, fleeing the city of Gomorrah, we left Dallas behind with nary a glance backwards. Well I did at least.

That summer  I planted and tended the perfect vegetable garden, gathered wild Mustang grapes, canned a bazillion jars of jelly, and watched my children run outside half naked, barefoot, free and happy. I even had a rooster scratching in the yard that I'd rescued from a busy city intersection in Dallas right before we moved, and I wanted for nothing...except a front porch. I could see it in my mind—rustic and sturdy. A place for me to sit out at night after the kids were in bed and play my guitar with only the glorious stars and acres and acres of deep, dark emptiness for company.

The pond across the road and my newly plowed garden

It was a few weeks before Christmas that Grampy called to say it was high time he and mama drove out from California to pay us a visit. My mother in law never showed up without her white glove, so in preparation I cleaned the house from rafters to baseboards, set out the lame plastic floral centerpiece they'd bought us the Christmas before and mentally prepared myself for the invasion of my in-laws.

Part of the house and the tire swing as seen from my garden

Much to my surprise, (and I'll never forget this as long as I live) Grampy arrived—on time and  alone. He pulled into the yard in his beat up old pick up truck....which was carefully packed high with pieces of his prized scrap lumber. You remember his rather large collection of used wood he'd pilfered from construction sites for years and years. Well he had come out to Texas to share the wealth! He'd come out to Texas to     build me my dad-gummed porch!

I watched in awe the next few days as, tool belt in hand, he nailed short 2x4 weathered scraps of wood into place to build the deck off the front door. Each piece was varied  in color. Some were gray, some were dark brown, some were paint spattered, white, black or red and, once assembled, they made the most beautiful  12' x 7' deck I'd ever laid eyes on.  I was a happy country girl with my mis-matched quilted porch. Grampy stood back and admired it with me, then decided we needed a proper roof for covering —but he didn't have any pieces long enough to serve as posts.  He gazed off into the woods then picked up his chainsaw and took off into the brush. I watched as he cut down several young poplar trees, stripped off the branches and dragged them back to the house. He then fashioned them into supports for his hodge podge construction of multi hued lumber that formed the roof.

Can you see me? Standing back of the property in the woods

He finished the project within a week's time. It was a job well done, sturdy enough to survive Armageddon and just about the best Christmas present I'd ever received. I was living in the lap of luxury in my opinion, and felt gloriously  spoiled. The next day Grampy drove into town to the feed store and came back with six newly hatched chicks. He said we needed more than a scraggly old rooster if we expected to eat eggs for breakfast. The kids were in hog heaven and even the old barnacled rooster loved those chicks and managed to keep his good eye on them night and day.

A few days later, with a final admonishment to the kids to eat their broccoli and watch for ticks, Grampy climbed into the cab of his pick up and  left for home. Later that night as I sat out on my porch with our little black dog quietly snoring beside me, I played every country western song my father ever taught me on my guitar,  serenading the crickets and the vast dark emptiness around me. It was the best audience I'd ever had.  As I leaned back under the blanket of stars with a deep contentment in my soul, I thought of Grampy and how honery and cantankerous he can be, yet how he drove all the way to Texas to build me a porch for Christmas. With a deep sigh, I looked up at the twinkling heavens and said thank you to the creator of all that glory and I whispered, "I can't ever possibly be happier than I am at this moment. This is exactly where I'm meant to be."

And it was.

Stuck in a Lifetime Movie- Part 5

America's Favorite 50's family, The Nelsons

It was 1938 when, at 13, Tex decided to put an end to the beatings, shouting and threats. He said that he and little brother Willie were living in the orphanage for the second time when Tex smarted off, said the wrong thing and was duly punished. Severely. That night, when everyone was asleep, he and 10 yr old Willie ran away from that orphanage, and from his father for good. he said he didn't want to take his little brother but Willie begged him to and Tex didn't have the heart to leave him behind to face the music alone. Thus began Grampy's "Hobo Days" which is a story for another time.

St. Agnes Orphanage in the 1930's

Coming from a wholesome, Ozzie and Harriet type of upbringing myself, I try to imagine a chilhood like his.  How did Grampy and Willie endure? (and hopefully you've read my previous four blogs  so you know what I'm talking about) How do all the children in the world, past and present, withstand such anger and abuse from the one person in the world who should have nothing but love for them? It's no wonder Tex has never been able to wrap his mind around the concept of a loving God; one we refer to as "Father".

Mike says that the Grampy-apple didn't fall as far from the Arthur, Sr. tree as one would hope. As a father himself, Tex  was also a stern  disciplinarian and firmly believed a wide leather belt on the backside was the answer to any child's deviance from the straight and narrow, no matter how slight.  And he has always been quick-tempered and foul-mouthed.  But he was not an alcoholic and he worked hard to provide for his family and give them some semblance of stability. Let's say Tex was several notches better than his old man. Grampy's father died many, many years ago but to this day Tex is still simmers with an inside anger, and goes off on an unwarranted rant more often than anyone I've ever known.  Nevertheless, sometimes we get a glimpse through his gruff exterior into the kernel of goodness that lies within. Even if he has a difficult time expressing it, he loves us and we know it. We worry about him. Is he using his oxygen at night? He looks like he's losing weight—is he eating enough? He's more and more forgetful, will he leave the stove on?  Is he still threatening his neighbor with a shotgun? Will he get punched in the nose some day for loudly using the "N" word when describing the black family in the next aisle over while standing in line at Wal Mart?

Grampy is creeping up on 90 years old. Let's face it, he's mighty close to shuffling off his mortal coil. We have shared the love of Jesus and His redemptive power with Grampy repeatedly over the years—trying in love to explain the way to salvation. Mike and I recently made a pact to double up our prayer efforts for his dad. We know our children and eight grandchildren remember him faithfully in their prayers so surely the heart of God cannot resist. We aren't able see the future but we cherish every day with Tex in the present. We don't know what will reach the old man's heart, but we do know that Grampy has an all-powerful Father in heaven who loves him unconditionally. Our united prayer is that Grampy will meet God with confidence and open arms on that day in the not so distant future when he's called home.

Stuck in a Lifetime Movie - part 4

When Arthur Sr. absconded with the boys he moved them way out west to Phoenix, Az. Mind you there were no missing children photos on the milk cartons back then. It was 1933 and there were no " Amber Alerts" sent out when they left. Children were no more than parental-owned chattel. They wouldn't have been reported as missing anyway. Who would have reported it? Not Edna, who would have been living in fear that her husband might come back and kill her.

Orange grove and irrigation ditch

In Phoenix, Arthur Sr. got a a job shearing sheet metal. Grampy is quick to say here that Arthur Sr. was ONLY a shearer of sheet metal. He could NOT read blueprints and work the sheet metal into usable parts. Not like Grampy could after he became an adult—and did for 30 years. Arthur, Sr. was able to find dirt cheap lodgings for him and the boys in a tiny house in an orange grove on the outskirts of town.  In exchange for his low rent, the farmer who owned the fields required him to irrigate the orchard by flooding it with water from a canal several times a week. Easy Peasy, right? Unfortunately the demon of alcoholism does not let go simply because you've changed your address—he followed Arthur, Sr. to Arizona where the man spent his afterhours in sleezy bars and rarely came home before bedtime.

Tex was only 8 and little Willie was 5 but they were both aware that the prospect of homelessness was ever-looming, so every day after school they would trudge over to the irrigation canal and with all their combined might and main, those two boys would attempt to open the flood gates and water the trees.  Tex said at first that they couldn't do it—they simply weren't strong enough. They knew, however, that they desperately needed to get this done. They knew they were in for a beating from their dad if the fields didn't get watered and the fact that the were just two small skinny, helpless boys would not prevent their backsides from a tanning—not from a mean drunk with a leather belt itching to be used.

After several failed attempts, and several lashings with the belt, either they developed enough strength to open the canal gate or a kind-hearted angel took pity on them and helped, for they did eventually succeed, and it became their regular after-school chore.

They lived like this in Arizona for a good long time. Being the oldest, Grampy learned to cook for him and his little brother. Well, he learned to open a can and heat it on the stove anyway. One morning their dad decided to make himself some corned beef hash and eggs for breakfast. Grampy says his dad was half blind with a hangover but stumbled into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, reaching for a can of Hash. Unfortunately he'd gone to the store the day before in the same condition and had brought home several cans of “Dash” instead of “Hash”. We Baby Boomers remember that “Dash” used to be a popular canned dog food. Tex and Willie just watched him open the can, plop in into the frying pan and fry that dog food up. After he considered it done, their dad cracked open a few eggs on top as well. Willie started to say something to his dad....Tex silently shushed him. They both watched in delight as their dad took a plateful of Dash and Eggs to the table and commenced to eat it. “Come on boys, have some breakfast!” he told them, chomping his breakfast. “Um noo....we're not hungry” they said. “Dad”, Tex begain as he motioned Willie out the back door. Then (quickly over his shoulder as they dashed out the door) “YOU'RE EATING DOG FOOD!” They ran lickety split to the end of the orange grove, laughing hysterically all the way. Their dad was too sick and too mortified to persue them....this time.

Yum Yum DASH!

Sometimes their dad would decide to leave the boys so he could go off on a jaunt to who-knows-where, either on his own or with a new girlfriend or wife. (he married three or four more times before he died. Grampy doesn't remember the exact count) Most of the time he schlepped them back to Massachusets and left them with his sister. Tex described her as one notch better than her demon-posessed brother. One time Arthur, Sr. left them for several months in a local Catholic orphanage. Tex won't talk about it except to say he left that place with no love for the Catholic church, let alone the abusive nuns who ran the place. He has harbored that low opinion of all things Catholic ever since, and over the years has broadened his loathing to every other Christian religion as well. Now I grew up surrounded by nuns in the Catholic schools I went to, (I was in for 12 years and I'm still out on parole) and in their defense I must say that the majority of them were loving, caring and encouraging women and I only met one who rapped my knuckles with a ruler. But she was horribly senile and was put out to pasture the year after I graduated so I don't count her.

Stuck in a Lifetime Movie - part 3

Although I know better, every bone in my body wants to believe this Lifetime movie has a happy ending. After all, these two little boys, bereft of their mother deserve a happy ending. And what about Edna?

Downtown

After her husband left, she was eventually evicted from the house, abandoned by the father of her baby, and living on the streets. She was homeless, cold and fending for herself, depending on the kindness of strangers for food. Just before the baby was born she was walking downtown, hungry and exhausted, and fainted right there on the pavement. A kindly negro man was passing by named George Piper. After a brief hesitation, he picked her up and took her home with him.  He was a single working man with a good heart and he called the neighborhood midwife to come take care of her.  Edna was soon delivered of a surprisingly healthy baby boy, and in honor of the man who rescued her, she named him George. After the baby came, the older George took a shine to this beautiful white woman and Edna stayed on with him, keeping his house and before too long sharing his bed. Although they never married, I think she must have ended up falling in love with George. I like to think so. Grampy said she called George "pet". Surely you are in love with a fella that you nickname "Pet". He treated her with kindness and that was more than she'd ever had. More children followed and it would be years and years before they were to meet their half brothers, Arthur and Willie.

She named the baby George.

Grampy doesn't remember how or when his mother passed away. he insists she was a woman of loose morals to the end. We must remember that after his dad moved him out west, he never again grew up with his mother in his life, and only knew what his father told him about her. He didn't see her again till well after he became an adult, and then rarely. I sincerely doubt Arthur, Sr. would have had anything nice to say about Edna. And Grampy is old school. He hails from a time when a man could be described as a womanizer and a pillar of society in the same sentence. No one expected a man to be faithful to his wife...a "slip" now and then was slyly winked at and quickly overlooked. The women they were unfaithful with, well...shame on them, and even one indiscretion left them with a loose and ruined reputation in an unforgiving era of society.

Such were the times that Grampy grew up in.

(stay tuned for part 4)

Stuck in a Lifetime Move - part 2

1920s era house by the railroad

In bits and pieces, over the next couple of years, I learned more about Edna. She was a little bit of a thing; a beautiful, hard working woman who, at a very young age, made the unfortunate mistake of marrying Tex's father.  The family consisted of Grampy's dad, Arthur Victor Sr. and Edna along with their two son; Arthur Victor Jr. ( that was Grampy--he wasnt called Tex back then) and little brother Willie. In 1932, during The Great Depression, Arthur Jr. Was 7 years old, Willie was 4, and they were living in a ramshackle old house in Methesda, Mass., right next to the railroad tracks. Edna's  husband, Tex's father, was a drunk who couldnt hold down a job any longer than a one-armed farmer can hold down a greased pig. Times were tough and even though necessities were few—they were still hard to come by.  The coal train rode through town and right past their house. Grampy remembers his mother would run out and wait by the tracks for it. A kind hearted R.R. man would shovel a bit of the coal off the coal cars as they passed, and as it fell onto the dirt by the track she would run after it, gathering it in her apron and then take it home to heat the house on those cold winter days.

According to Tex, his father was a professional no-account bastard, who hung out at the local bar and came home drunk most every night. He had a foul mouth, a mean temper, and a good left hook. Drunken bar brawls were his forté. He oftentimes came home and beat his wife and his boys in the leftovers of his drunken haze. And to add insult to injury, he carelessly slept around with no remorse of conscious.

Lifetime Movie circa 1930

This is beginning to sound like a Made For TV Lifetime movie. The kind where we always hope for, and usually get, a happy ending.  But real life people don't have scripts and more often than not our lives neither end up happy nor sad-—they just end.

In those days divorces were scarce and women were taught to shut up and " take it". So for years, with no parents or other family members to support her, Edna "took it". She put up with the beatings, the poverty, the mental abuse and the downright meanness. She eventually found comfort, love and solace in the arms of another man. And maybe more than one. As usually happens in any proper Lifetime movie, she got pregnant. When Arthur Sr. found out he beat her solid then packed the 2 boys up, lock, stock and barrel,  left no forwarding address and took off...never looking back. Edna was finally free but at the cost of losing her children. As for Tex and his little brother Willie, their problems had just begun.

(stay tuned for part 3)

Stuck in a Lifetime Movie. (pt. 1 of 5)

Grandma Edna before

Grampy may be an old geezer but once upon a time even he had a mother. The loins from which he sprang were named Edna and she was born at the turn of the 20th century. I Never knew anything about her until a few years ago. At that time his half-sister in New Hampshire called to tell him that she'd been going thru her attic and found, hidden in the back of an old abandoned framed oil painting, a portrait that had been done of Edna when she was a young bride. Grampy told me about this phone conversation and said he'd forgotten what his mother looked like. His sister mailed it to him but wrongly sent it to my address instead of his. It was a justifiable mistake. He had  lived with us for 6 months about 13 years ago and it takes awhile for old people to update their address books. Grampy's name was clearly written on the package so naturally I opened it up right away. It had been carefully wrapped in toilet paper (single ply) and scotch tape. The large, black and white portrait was of a beautiful dark haired woman dressed impeccably in the style of the day. She had a haunting look of innocence and fragility about her. It had been done in the early 1900's and it was stunning.The canvas was, however, badly damaged. It was ripped in some places, folded in others and covered with countless mold spots.  

Grandma Edna after

Right then and there I had an epiphany. By, jingle, I'd restore it! Contrary to what Grampy thinks— he thinks I'm some sort of secretary/typist ever since I told him I work on a computer—I'm the director of Creative Services for an ad agency and a graphic artist. This is what I do for a living. The next day I scanned it and spent several hours in Photoshop lovingly and meticulously repairing it.

I printed it out and had it framed and decided to give it to Grampy as a surprise—an early birthday gift. When it was done, I admired how well it turned out, and it looked so good in the new frame. I wrapped it in my best wrapping paper and took it right over to his trailer park, proudly presented it to him and waited impatiently for him to open his gift. Finally I'd come up with a gift idea for him that would easily top boring white socks and a half-priced can of peanuts. When he took off the paper and saw what it was he just sat back and stared at it in silence for a few seconds. It was such a tender moment and tears began to well in my eyes. Then, shaking his head, he handed it back to me, proclaiming in disgust "Yeah, that's my mother—the Slut".

(part 2 to come....)

Road Bumps Along the Journey...

It was December 29, 1970 when I first met my husband. I was a baby, a mere child. I was all of 18 years old, Miss 1300 on the S.A.T.'s going to nursing college, working in a hospital, living the successful life my parents had planned for me and feeling hopelessly trapped by the Establishment. I was a starry-eyed teenaged flower child looking for my way into the world; he was an 20 yr old disillusioned Vietnam Vet looking for the way out. We were a match made in heaven —and every mother's nightmare for her young daughter.

Me in 1971 with our Great Dane, Lakaya

Mike was barely 20, an AWOL sailor with PTSD and fresh off the ship from a year's duty in Vietnam. He'd hitchhiked from San Diego to our home town in Lancaster, CA to see his mom. He'd been denied Leave when he requested it and was told that he was confined to the ship. Mike said “like hell” grabbed his duffle bag and promptly left. He was rebellious and dangerous — two of the qualities I was looking for in a man.

We met at McDonalds (one of my hang outs) that fateful night. He was dressed like a Sears catalog hippie, trying too hard to be cool. I wasn't impressed. His hair was short. His clothes were too new. I only dated bonafide long-haired Freaks. But he stalked me for a couple days until I would go out with him. I must have let my guard down. I must have been looking for something I-didn't-know-what and I gave in. We spent every day together for a full two weeks before we he swept me off my feet. We fell crazy in love and during the third week, announced our engagement to my parents. You can imagine my mother's reaction. The blood drained from her face as she stood there speechless. My dad, detached and unemotional as ever, just shook his head, muttering "Well I don't think it's a good idea" and walked out of the room.  We deemed that response our patriarchal blessing and a mere week later, sans wedding ring, I left home for good. I gathered up my tie-dyed shirts and patched up jeans as well as my guitar, climbed into the back seat of Mike's brother's Plymouth, and shook the dust of Lancaster, California off my sandals.

Looking back I should have read the signs. I should have seen the clues that might have deterred me from my hapless quest to Paradiso Perdu but I was too enmeshed in the throes of new love—whatever that is. And the first sign should have been meeting my future In-laws.

Bernie and Tex in their back yard-1971

We had been seeing each other for a full week when Mike asked me to meet him one morning at his parent's house. I had a VW bug and was fully mobile. He had his two young feet and a good left thumb for hitchhiking. I was to be there at 10 am and he would introduce me to the people that birthed him. I was foolishly excited. DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER! I should have had orange flashing warning lights going off in my brain...that should have deterred me. But no.

I showed up on the doorstep at 10am sharp and knocked. I knocked several times before a middle-aged, short, red haired bespectacled woman with a cigarette in her mouth answered the door. (None too cheerful I might add.) “Yeah?” she stood there at the door looking me up and down, obviously disapproving of my appearance. “Um....I'm here to see Mike”. “Heh!?” she said, in a deep Bostonian accent, cupping her hand behind her ear. “Mike?” I squeaked. “Well shit, I can't heah a word you say.” At that she turned her head and yelled to the inside of the dark house, “Tex! Come heah! There's some girl at the doah!” So a few seconds later here is Tex at the door, standing next to her staring at me with the same frown on his face as his wife. He had a shock of greased black hair high on the top of his head and a matching cigarette perched between his lips. His resemblance to a bantam rooster was remarkable. He got right to the point. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded. At this point I was inching my way backwards, hand in my jeans pocket fingering my car keys. “Speak up!” the woman yelled. “Um...Mike told me to meet him here at 10 am?” I asked more than announced. Tex turned to Bernie (for the red haired woman was, indeed, Mike's mother Bernie) and shouted “Where the HELL is your son! This girl is here to see Mike. Where IS he?” Nonplussed, Bernie pulled the cigarette butt out of her mouth, flicked it to the gravel driveway in back of me and shouted back at him “How the hell do I know? He's not heah!” They both glared at me again. Tex began ranting and this time it was aimed at me. “If he said he'll be here at 10 then he SHOULD be here at 10! So where IS he?!”

The camel's back broke. I burst into tears right there on their doorstep. I was speechless. I was horrified. My mascara was running. I had no idea where Mike was and desperately needed rescuing. This was the catalyst to a brand new wave of nagging from Bernie. “Aww Tex now look what you did! You went and made her cry. What the hell is wrong with you! You made her cry!” Tex countered with a disgusted “Oh shut up woman!” and stormed off, back to his recliner to finish The Rifleman.

Bernie w/her first grandchild, Kevin in 1971

It was precisely at that moment that Mike drove up in his friend George's car. He got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Oblivious to my tears and degree of humiliation, as well as his mother's scowl, he enthusiastically embraced both of us in a communal hug, and said “Oh I'm so glad. You two have met!”

He then stepped into the house, whistling like a fat canary and I, like a fresh young lamb being coaxed into a Greek restaurant, carelessly and innocently followed right behind.

For a good time to come our road to happiness would be paved with shattered dreams and salty tears. But that is another story for another day. Suffice it to say that now, over 40 years later we all know that the story did, indeed, have a happy ending. And I am quick to add “by the Grace of God” with gusto and conviction here because that is the only reason. I toughened over the years. Learned to ignore Tex's rantings and Bernie's disapproving glares...and I am still married to that same impetuous Vietnam Vet who actually turned out to be a wonderful man, a great husband and a good apple —who thankfully fell a decent distance away from the family fruit tree.